Stories from the Captain's Log
by PirateBlacksmith
Summary: A series of short stories and various challenges.
1. Seagulls and Scars

**Summary:** The following are basically short stories that I've written for challenges on forums, for my own amusement, or as individual challenges. Some might be a little off the wall or serious or a mixture of both.

**Disclaimer:** Disney owns it all. I do nothing but borrow the characters for my own warped amusement.

**A/N:** The challenge for this one was scars, seagulls, and a plan gone wrong. Damn those seagulls. This story has no spoilers for DMC.

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Anamaria had finally found a quiet spot to sit on the beach, digging her toes into the warm sand and picking up the bundle that sat beside her. Unwrapping it, she pulled the knife from inside her boot and picked up the red apple, sliding the knife into it. Juice welled up as the knife entered and she pulled it loose again, only to move the blade an inch and slid it in again to produce a slice. She wiggled it away from core and moved the piece to her mouth, only to have someone pluck it from her fingers. Reaching behind her quickly, she found a handful of fabric of the thief's shirt and pulled him forward into the sand.

"That wasn't very nice." She said as she plucked the half eaten piece out of his hand and popped it into her own mouth. Letting go of the shirt, she started to slice another piece from the apple. "Besides, this is my apple. If you want one so badly, you can go get it. You know where the barrel is." Nonchalantly, she popped the next piece of apple into her mouth, but couldn't help the barest hint of a smile that appeared on her face.

Beside her, the thief grumbled and sat up so that he was facing her. "I thought the point of piracy was to take what you can and give nothing back." He replied, dusting the sand off his shirt and jacket. Anamaria closed her eyes and she shook her head.

"This coming from the man that once upon a time said he would rather thrust himself upon a blade that would pierce him through the heart than ever have anything to do with piracy." She commented and then held out the knife, a piece of the apple carefully balanced on the blade.

Will picked it off and stuck it in his mouth, chewing slowly. "There are circumstances as in every situation." He replied lamely and the amused look on Anamaria's face grew.

"I'm sure it has absolutely nothing to do with disregarding a moral compass and for once thinking of your deepest, hidden desire." She replied and glanced up to find him staring at her with a content half smile on his face. "Or desires as the case may be."

Will seemed to have a response to her, but suddenly his expression darkened and he glared past her. Anamaria turned slightly to see the seagull eyeing the apple in her hand with unconcealed interest, beady little eyes fixed upon the prize. It flapped its wings once and hopped a step closer, feeling brave. "William, it's a seagull."

"I hate seagulls." He replied and picked up a small piece of a broken shell, tossing it at the bird. "Go!" He hissed at it, but the bird neatly sidestepped the flying debris, its gaze never once leaving the apple.

"Stop it. It's never done anything to you." Anamaria chastised him, turning back around. She paused mid-cut and eyed him. "Or perhaps it hasn't, but another of its feathery brethren has." She knew him well enough at this point to know when he was hiding something. It helped that his face had flushed a few shades of red. She tapped him on the end of his nose with the tip of the blade. "I sense a story that I would much like to hear."

"But I…"

"No." She replied firmly. "I'm willing to reward you if you do."

He glanced at her suspiciously. "Oh? And what would I get from this?"

A wry, amused expression was on Anamaria's features. "Tell your story and find out." She replied and went back to work on her apple. Will watched her for a few moments before uttering a heavy sigh, shifting to a cross legged position and resting his elbows on his knees.

"It's something that never would have happened had I not been nearly starving to death…"

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The last of his money had been spent on a piece of bread. Will's stomach growled viciously as he made his way back to the smithy and he winced. Business had been slow as of late and that meant that the salary Brown paid him had decreased as well. It couldn't have been at a worse time either. He had just hit a growth spurt and his body seemed to demand more food to keep up with the growing that he did. A measly piece of bread wouldn't sustain him for very long, but it was all he had for the moment.

Entering the shop, he placed the wrapped bundle on the workbench and headed to the back of the shop to fetch some water from the barrel. Upon returning, he found a seagull perched on the edge of workbench, picking at the cloth wrapped around the bread. "Hey!" Will shouted and ran for the workbench, waving his arms. "Get out of here! Find your own food!"

The bird gave him a bored look and snatched up the small bundle in its beak, hopping off the workbench and waddling towards the donkey, snoozing quietly in the corner of the shop. Will sprinted after him, skidding to a stop just as the bird waddled underneath the donkey and disappeared momentarily from sight only to reappear on the other side, sitting the bundle down on the ground and picking at it once again. Cursing quietly just as he'd heard the men do while he had been a cabin boy, he got down on his hands and knees and reached for the bread. The bird gave up on the bundle for the moment to instead nip him in the fingers. Picking up the bundle, it took off again, this time taking to the air and landing in the rafters above.

Will looked upwards, a frustrated expression on his face. This wasn't going to work unless he had a plan. Glancing around the shop, the boy's gaze landed on the hatchet resting on one of the racks. He'd helped to make it, but had never once used it in the manner he was thinking of now. Snatching it up, he stuck it in his belt and kicked off his shoes and stockings.

When he had nothing else to do and Brown wasn't around, Will had taken to exploring every part of the shop, which meant he had found a way to climb up to the rafters. He started up slowly, finding the marks he had made to help himself along. The bird seemed not to care, having gotten one side of the bundle undone.

Eventually the boy pulled himself up onto the rafter and kept to a low crouch, pulling the hatchet from his belt and watching the bird. Just then, a thought struck him. No one had ever told him _not_ to eat a sea gull. If he managed to kill this bird, would that mean another meal? His stomach rumbled as he frowned at the bird. Perhaps no one had ever been able to catch one before so they wouldn't know if the meat was good or not. There was only one way to find out.

He gripped the hatchet tightly as the British naval soldier- _What was his name? Groves?_ - had once shown him when he had come to have his blade sharpened. Breathing in deeply, he stared at his target and drew the hatchet back before throwing it as hard as he could. It missed the bird, but succeeded in scaring it. It went straight for Will, who tried to avoid it and only managed to lose his balance. He toppled off the rafter as the bird made its way out through the hole in the roof.

On the way down, something had snagged the boy's shirt. It had only stopped him for a moment though before he heard the rip and crashed onto the floor below, the air leaving his lungs as he hit. He curled up in a ball for a moment, coughing, before opening his eyes and finding Lieutenant Norrington staring down at him, the expression on his face a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and annoyance.

"I think it's safe to assume that your master is not around?" He asked, arching an eyebrow. Will sat up stiffly and reaching behind his right shoulder where it hurt. His fingers came away covered in blood. It must have been the nail that did it. The area throbbed painfully.

"No sir." He answered, getting to his feet and dusting off his breeches, eyes downcast. "He'll be back after the lunch hour." Norrington nodded, taking that in before resting his hands on the boy's shoulders and turning him just enough to see where blood was soaking into the shirt.

"Then you have time to run to the doctor and see if he will tend to that before it becomes infected." Norrington told him and nodded for the door. "Tell him that I sent you." Will looked up at him, surprised. "That's a nasty wound. You might want to have it tended to quickly." He said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Will found his voice again. "Thank you, sir." He said in a rushed tone and scrambled for the door.

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Anamaria shrieked with laughter, arms wrapped around her stomach as she leaned forward. Will merely glowered at her. It took her a few moments, but the laughter finally died down and she wiped the tears from her eyes, not a bit apologetic. "If it weren't for bad luck, Turner, you'd be a man with no luck at all." She snorted. "I think it's safe to say that you could keep me amused."

"Glad to be of some service." He muttered, getting to his feet. He didn't get very far as he suddenly found himself lying on his back in the sand, Anamaria straddling his stomach. She leaned down on him, resting her chin on her crossed arms.

"Don't be so humorless about it." She told him and scooted up a bit farther so that they were face to face. "Laugh at the mistakes that don't kill you or put you in a tight spot. You'll live a lot longer." She said before kissing his lips. "And you're a better man when you're not being uptight."

"I suppose so." He replied, looking up at her. "But there still is the matter of my prize. What is it?"

"Let me say this." She told him with a mischievous smile. "I'll be able to see that scar the seagull gave you…" She paused for a moment before continuing. "And a whole lot more."


	2. Deepest Circle of Hell

**A/N:** The challenge for this fic was what took place during the time of the mutiny aboard the Black Pearl. The usual disclaimer applies, wherein I own nothing and Disney does.

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Jack ran his hand tenderly over the wood paneling that made up the wall of the cabin. There was no wry smile or amused look on the captain's face as he did so. There was only a look of loss. Too late had he learned what Barbossa had been up to and there was no way to turn back now. Out in the middle of the ocean, there was only one escape, and that provided a good an ending as the one he was about to receive.

_Jack, I heard the two of 'em today. At first, I thought they were talking about something as childish as a prank, but then…Jack, they're going to maroon you. You have to kill Barbossa, he's at the head of this. If you kill him, then they'll know you're bloody serious about this ship and her crew, enough to put down a mutiny. Don't think it over, Jack. Just do it. _

He hadn't. Barbossa had betrayed him and he refused to kill the man in cold blood. But there was something else; some thought that had yet to reveal itself. There was a greater purpose to this event that would later appear. Jack rose to his feet and returned to the seat at the head of the table. He grabbed an apple before he sat down, placing one leg up on the table. Relaxed and easy.

It wasn't long before they broke down the door, calling for his blood. They expected him to fight back, but he went without a hand on him. The crew that had once been his parted like the Red Sea before Moses when he strode out. The numerous lamps and torches bathed him in a golden light, illuminating him in the darkness of the night. He didn't break stride, walking down the gauntlet that they had created. Not a man reached out to touch him or do injury. By code, mutiny was dastardly enough on its own without the added shame of being beaten or mocked. They simply followed him with their eyes.

Some seemed quite glad to be rid of him, small smiles on their faces, knowing and cocky as all hell. Jack resisted the urge to stare at them as he went by, to memorize the faces that smirked at him for a later time. Instead he stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes on the plank. Some of the faces he caught a glimpse of peripherally were neutral. They would give nothing away for fear of being called a sympathizer and forced to join Jack on the island as well. The very few that were left looked displease with the crew's treatment of Jack. Years later, when Jack fought to regain his beloved ship, he would notice that he never saw those faces among the cursed crew. They had sympathized with him and had paid dearly with their lives.

The last man to his right was the only one who could not, would not look up, to see Jack's long walk. He held his torch out to illuminate the way, but his head was down, eyes closed. Jack knew quite well that he only held himself still at Jack's command. Otherwise the fool would be likely to take on the entirety of the traitorous crew on his own. In the flickering light of the torch, his knuckles were white as he gripped the wooden handle. He prayed that his heart would not win out over his head. When the time came, Jack would need his help.

He came to a stop at the end of the gauntlet, standing before his first mate, head held high. Barbossa stared back at him for a long moment before speaking. "I'm sorry to do this to you, Jack…"

"No, you're not." Jack interrupted. "Please drop what formalities you think still exist and get this over with."

"We didn't want you as our captain anymore, Jack. To that effect, I sentence you to mutiny." He held out the pistol, loaded with the customary one shot, as if he thought Jack would ever need make use of it on that island.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Jack asked, smiling calmly, as he took the pistol and stuck it in his belt. He lowered his voice as he spoke the next. "I bet it was harder to convince the men of your lies."

The smile on Barbossa's face faded slightly and he grabbed Jack's arm, pushing him towards the plank. Jack stumbled at the sudden movement, steadying himself by the rail on either side of the plank. He looked out over the stretch of open water, eyeing the great black shape in the distance, most likely the island he would make his new home. He held himself straighter, but his right hand never left the rail. Instead he squeezed tighter, fingernails making small indents on the underside of the wood.

"I'll be back for you, love." He whispered to the night air. "Just wait for me." He turned on the plank to gaze at Barbossa and those who had betrayed him.

"Your deed this night will come back to you, as mine have tonight." He announced loudly. "But know this. I pay for them this night as well. Yours are still carrying a debt." With that, he turned and dove off the plank before he could be pushed off.

He carried some certainty with him as he swam away from the Pearl. Some feeling within him that said he would not lose the Pearl for good, nor would he use that pistol on himself. It was that feeling that tempered his anger at the betrayal that bade him to wait for the right time to attack, when he would stand a better chance of survival. Much better than being one against seventy. No, make that two or three against seventy at the least. There were still a few loyal to him.

Jack climbed up on the shore and turned back to the ocean, wind blowing the hair back from his face. There, framed by what little of the moon there was that night was the Pearl, black sails flapping in the wind. There was an ache of loss as he gazed at the sight, at his ship.

And that she would be again one day.


	3. Atrocious!

**A/N:** The challenge this time around? The word 'atrocious.' Probably been used to describe my grammatic ability more than once. The disclaimer still applies. The characters I use are owned and cared for by Disney, though if I could I'd purchase them. They're an interesting bunch.

"Atrocious!"

Mister Henry Atherton, teacher of manners, had reached the end of the rope and he wanted to make sure that Governor Swann knew this. He puffed out his chest and slowly crossed his arms over his chest. "Never in my entire career have I met such a student, so unwilling to learn, so…" He sighed and delicately touched his hand to his forehead. "I don't know if I will be able to fix this. This…man is…where did you find him, the common gutter?" He snarled in indignation. "You mock me by thinking that I can teach this!"

Governor Swann twisted his handkerchief in his hands, wincing under the man's onslaught. He'd heard that Henry Atherton was the best teacher of manners that money could buy, but also of his horrible temper and demanding ways. At first, it sounded like a risk worth taking. Now he wasn't so sure about that. "I'm sorry." He stuttered out an apology. He wasn't used to being looked down upon. Instead of calming the man, he took it as his cue to go on.

"I still expect to be paid, of course, for my services." Atherton continued on, fluttering a hand near his face. With his other hand, he steadied himself in the doorway between the hall and the dining room. If Governor Swann leaned to his left just a bit, he could see into the room. Elizabeth was gently trying to console the agitated blacksmith who was staring at one of the many spoons as if he found even the presence of the utensil offensive.

At Atherton's comment, Governor Swann straightened up. "Now see here! You've done nothing as far as I can see and you expressly promised me that I would see improvement or else I wouldn't need to pay you." He replied indignantly. "Now, you will either go back in there and teach him or I will not pay you!" Despite Atherton towering over him, Governor Swann seemed to take on an attitude that made him just as tall, if not taller. Atherton glared at him, not willing to back down.

"I will most certainly not and I will be paid for my time wasted!" He roared. "I'm sorry, Governor, if you had the opinion that I this situation was fixable, but even I cannot make gold out of a rock. He would not know charm if it slapped him in the face, and trust me, I have felt the need on several occasions." Atherton responded, sniffing. "It taxes him to remember which spoon and which fork goes with which meal and I highly doubt he knows what the knife is even for!"

_I highly doubt that,_ Governor Swann thought as he watched Will rise out of his seat, grab the knife from the place setting and raise it to throw. Thankfully, Elizabeth rose quickly from her seat and tackled the near homicidal blacksmith to the ground. The loud thump that resulted didn't even register with the furious teacher.

"Please try again." Governor Swann seemed to shrink in size as his anger abated. "If it doesn't work this time, I will pay your full fee without complaint." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Please."

Atherton seemed to think this over for a long moment before finally replying. "Fine." He snapped and turned on his heel, heading back into the dining room. By that time, Elizabeth had gotten up off the floor and Will was back on his feet. She eyed Atherton nervously over Will's shoulder as she straightened his shirt.

"Come along, boy. The governor has asked me to try once more to make you a gentleman, though I fear this is all a lost cause." He said, his lips curling into a sneer. "We'll move on to fencing instruction. You must always be ready to defend your lady's honor. If we're lucky, you'll even know which end to hold." He swept out of the dining room, motioning for Will to follow. The blacksmith did so, a conniving smirk on his lips. Elizabeth shot her father a wide eyed look, but Governor Swann didn't see it.

He was too busy resisting the urge to bang his head against the wall.


End file.
